


Whole House

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Prompt List #1 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: American Sign Language, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Kissing, Knitting, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: 19. “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”





	Whole House

**Author's Note:**

> Since Martin can hear, he's likely mute from trauma. That aside, I headcanon that Edward would enjoy learning ASL with him, since knowing another language strengthens your brain. I just love these three so muhuhuuuch.

It had been a whirlwind getting to this point. Edward had somehow found himself on the same side as Oswald in a conflict that had rocked Gotham to its very foundations: the Kingpins of old versus the Emperor Penguin. Loathe though he was to help, Lee had brokered a deal with Oswald to keep the Narrows under her rule should Oswald succeed. Her sister-in-law, Sofia Falcone, had entertained no such ideas.  
  
It was important to note that Edward had not saved Oswald’s life during an early skirmish out of love. It was out of loyalty to Lee. He also had not meant to let Oswald kiss him in the heat of the moment, whispering fervently that he knew Edward would never tell him that he felt the same, but that he didn’t care. Edward didn’t have to. Oswald had entered the fray again after that, leaving Edward in a daze on the concrete. He can admit that the stolen kisses that had happened in the following days could not all be counted as mistakes, especially those that he’d initiated.

Sofia Falcone had wanted a war, and that was exactly what she’d gotten. But with war came the possibility of death. The time they had left might not have amounted to much at all, and Edward had ample excuse to seize whatever time with Oswald he could spare. Not out of love, obviously. They were allies in a war making use of one another, getting drunk off sweet touches in a time where each one could be their last. Edward trusted Oswald the way one trusted a clever predator not to turn on the hand that fed them. That was why he was doing this with Oswald, and not anyone else. Not because he trusted him, but because he trusted everyone else even less.  
  
But then the war was over.  
  
And they still hadn’t stopped.  
  
It’s been months since the city was firmly within Oswald’s grasp once more, and Edward still sees Oswald whenever he can, letting Oswald press kisses to his skin and touch him wherever he desires. Before long, Oswald’s words begin to sound like a challenge to him. So, Oswald knew that Edward would never tell him that he felt the same. What did he mean by that? Was Oswald stating the obvious, that he would never tell Oswald he felt the same because Oswald still loved him, and Edward did not? Or was he insinuating that Edward did love him, but would never tell him as much? Edward bristles at this, at the idea that he’s ever denied his feelings for someone. He’s a romantic at heart, same as Oswald. Though he’d once entertained the notion that love was a weakness, it’s far more natural to him to seek it out. Edward has never been one for self-denial, and there is no good reason to deny his feelings for Oswald. Ergo, he is not in love with him.  
  
Edward thinks himself in circles for weeks, and every time he sees Oswald he wonders when he started feeling so content, when Martin started feeling like his own, when kissing Oswald on the cheek sent a feeling like warm molasses from his heart to the very tips of his fingers. It isn’t until he seriously considers the possibility that he might love Oswald that he’s struck with a sudden terror so fierce it leaves him momentarily breathless. Perhaps there _is_ a reason he’s denied his feelings. The very idea of telling Oswald such things sends his heart racing.  
  
At the moment, they’re both lounging on the couch, Oswald with a book in hand, running his fingers through Edward’s hair while Edward tries his hand at knitting. He thinks he’ll make a hat for Martin first as a test, since it will be smaller, and if it’s terrible it will be much quicker to make another small one to replace it. Edward thinks he likes knitting so far, the repetitive motion of it. His stitches are becoming quicker and surer already.  
  
Martin enters the room, tapping Edward’s shoulder for his attention.  
  
‘Ed,’ he signs. Edward puts down his knitting.  
  
‘Yes?’  
  
‘Shouldn’t you and Oswald be married?’ Martin furrows his brows, adding confusion to the signs.  
  
‘What makes you say that?’ Edward asks, dreading having to give an actual answer.  
  
‘On television, adults who live together are married,’ Martin signs. Oh, this should be easy. Thank goodness.  
  
‘Not always,’ Edward signs. ‘I need to show you Full House.’ Martin looks confused, and repeats the sign Edward had used for ‘Full’.  
  
“Full,” Edward says aloud, rather than just mouthing it. “Did I use the wrong one?” Martin makes a fist and crosses one hand over the top, mouthing ‘full’. He repeats Edward’s sign, from earlier, mouthing what looks like ‘whole’.  
  
“Whole?” Edward asks, and Martin nods. Edward slaps his forehead dramatically. “How embarrassing! You’re learning so much quicker than I am!” Martin smiles and tackles Edward on the couch in a hug, then kisses Oswald’s cheek and departs. 

“You’re good with him,” Oswald says, looking away from his book and brushing his thumb over Edward’s cheekbone. “He’s been more affectionate since you came into his life. It’s remarkable.” Perhaps Martin is closer to the mark than Edward would like to admit. He’s practically their son, at this point. And following that formula, it’s clear as day where that leaves his relationship with Oswald. Whether he can admit it or not, the implications of the life he’s currently leading speak louder than the words he cannot bring himself to say.  
  
Edward can’t allow his fear to stop him any longer, not when it’s so obvious to him now. Since when had he become the kind of man to hide from his emotions, rather than expressing them? Granted, he usually expresses his feelings through the veil of wordplay, but at least the result is the same. Honesty. Openness. Regardless, he owes it to himself to be true to his feelings. Refusing to voice them will only prolong his torment over it. He is only hurting himself by enduring the burden of this knowledge, and once he finally gathers the courage to say something, the fear of confessing his feelings to Oswald will dissipate. There is no good reason to continue pretending.  
  
“Oswald, can I ask you something?” Edward casually begins. He’s thought about doing this for some time, but now seems like an opportune moment. It would be foolish to avoid voicing his feelings any longer. Foolish, and cowardly. Now is the time. This moment is _the_ moment.  
  
“Yes, love?” Oswald asks, laying his book down entirely.  
  
“How did it feel when you realized that you were in love with me?” Oswald swallows.  
  
“It was the happiest moment of my life,” Oswald recalls.  
  
“And later, when you were trying to tell me?” Edward asks.  
  
“I was terrified.” Edward sits up, swinging a leg over Oswald’s lap and settling in, facing him. He takes Oswald’s hands in his own.  
  
“I’m scared,” Edward admits.  
  
“Edward,” Oswald says, eyes shining with understanding already.  
  
“Oswald,” Edward interrupts, “I need to say this.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He uses the feeling of Oswald hands in his own to ground himself, centering himself in Oswald’s lap. When he finally allows his lashes to flutter open, he finds the words he needs in Oswald’s piercing green eyes and takes the leap.  
  
“I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.” He ignores the sick feeling in his stomach, as though the bottom has dropped out of it, and the way he’s probably holding Oswald’s hands painfully hard. Instead, he watches Oswald’s face.  
  
“I was beginning to think that you’d never admit it,” Oswald jokes, tears welling in his eyes.  
  
“I love you, Oswald,” Edward says, the same wave of terror crashing over him at the confession.  
  
“It gets easier to say,” Oswald assures him, bringing Edward’s hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles.  
  
“I guess I’ll just have to practice,” Edward says, leaning forward until his lips are brushing Oswald’s. “I love you.”  
  
“You can practice all you want,” Oswald whispers, pressing his lips firmly to Edward’s. “I’ll even say it back. I love you too.”


End file.
